


A Freak-out in Four Acts

by hillaryschu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Odd narrator voice, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillaryschu/pseuds/hillaryschu
Summary: Jaime kisses Brienne and panic ensues.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 58
Kudos: 237





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the first J/B fic I've shared. It's not the first I started (which was a very long fix-it I began post s8), but it's the first one I finished. 
> 
> It was born out of this idea of not totally understanding the rules or tricks of being a girl/woman. How some of us (Brienne) maybe never learned about certain things like makeup and waxing. How do you soak up information about topics like that without a mom or childhood best friends? 
> 
> It was honestly supposed to be more of a crackfic than it turned out to be.
> 
> It's got a kind of goofy voice/tone. Basically I wrote it like I talk. Someone told me it sounded "valley girl-ish" and Brienne isn't like that (saying it sounded more true to, say, Margaery), but I don't know. I think a modern interpretation of Brienne might sound like this because I sound like this and I relate to Brienne tremendously. I actually hope it doesn't come across valley-girlish but just kind of funny and cute.

Brienne might be having a panic attack and it’s all Margaery’s fault. 

Actually, backup…

Two nights ago, Jaime kissed Brienne and now Brienne may be having a panic attack.

No, no, no—wait. 

_Four years ago_ , Jaime Lannister walked into Brienne’s boxing gym for the first time and now Brienne could possibly be having a panic attack.

“Is that a woman?!” were the first words Brienne ever heard Jaime say. He was talking about her. He was a dick. He was golden and beautiful and he was a complete dick. And he continued to be a dick for many, many weeks. Making fun of her height, stature, freckles, too-big teeth, crooked nose…you name it. 

She eventually realized that he didn’t truly mean all the awful shit he said (or he eventually stopped meaning all the truly awful shit he said). Either way, he absolutely loved riling her up. She knew that he especially liked it when her anger segued into a beat down in the boxing ring. They were evenly matched and it was thrilling for both of them. He would throw insults at her until she was practically shouting at him and then they would get in the ring and punch each other silly. Covered in bruises and occasionally in blood, they’d shake hands and part ways until the next bout.

Their unusual but uncomplicated relationship changed eight months into knowing each other. One night they left the gym after a late fight, Jaime insisting on walking Brienne to her car. “This neighborhood is shady and you aren’t as tough as you think.” And while she’d normally assert that she was fine on her own, she was too exhausted from their match to argue. And that was how, as they rounded the east side of the building, they were jumped.

There were four attackers. They weren’t that big, but had the element of surprise on their side. In addition to the conceal of night, the attackers caught Brienne and Jaime in the middle of bickering about medieval weaponry of all things, and so caught them unawares. They seemed to know who Jaime was—Brienne had only recently learned that he was ridiculously wealthy and from a kinda-sorta famous family. Three of the four attackers focused on Jaime, one with a large crowbar and the other two trying to grab hold of him. They, of course, underestimated Brienne. 

With only one of the men moving toward her, she was easily able to gain the upper hand, despite the switchblade he held in his hand. She threw him against the wall, knocking him on his ass. Now two against three, the fight was more evenly matched. The men shouted things at Jaime, having something to do with his father and some deal gone sideways. Brienne didn’t understand then, and still has never really learned what their exact purpose was, but it seemed to be about scaring his father into action. Jaime wasn’t backing down. He threw punches and ducked swings of the crowbar. The fourth attacker rejoined the fight and Jaime and Brienne were now fighting back to back, keeping an eye on each other to make sure that neither got into trouble.

“Freeze, fuckers!”

Bronn Blackwater, the owner of the boxing gym, came around the corner with a small handgun. He had heard the commotion while leaving the gym and went back inside to retrieve his gun from the safe. He shouted to the men that he had called the police and they stopped fighting and started to flee. One of them knocked Jaime to the ground when they all scrambled to their motorcycles. As the last man sped off, he swerved toward Jaime. Brienne automatically closed her eyes tight—they flew open when she heard a loud crunch and Jaime’s screams. The attacker had ridden his motorcycle over Jaime’s right hand.

Brienne stayed by his side through the ambulance ride and his emergency surgery and through the first few days of his recovery, eating his Jello-O and sleeping awkwardly in a too-small chair next to his hospital bed. She stayed because there was no one else. She finally left when Jaime’s brother Tyrion arrived, having had to catch a flight back from the Dorne to be there—showing up looking like he’d been on a two-week bender (which he may have been, Brienne later thinks, when she knows him better).

That night changed everything. Brienne spent more time than ever in the ring with Jaime, helping him to learn to lead with his left and taking it easy on him, despite his protestations, as he worked to regain strength in his healed right hand. They worked out together almost every day—with more of an ease between them than before. Jaime still liked to rib Brienne, pushing any and every button he could to embarrass her or make her uncomfortable. He’d say and do things to exasperate her and make her want to fight, but it was no longer mean-spirited. In fact, Jaime often seemed to disguise compliments as insults—making fun of how Brienne always fought too fair or how ridiculously brave or strong she was.

And so, for years now, this is how it’s been. They are friends. They fight and work out together. That’s it. Well, and they sometimes grab a quick bite to eat after sparring on some nights. The fighting often goes late and they are both too hungry to make it to their respective homes before eating. And it’s not that unusual if sometimes ( _most_ times) they go for runs together on Sundays—they would both be doing that alone, anyway, might as well do it together. Occasionally they’ll meet up with a larger group of friends for drinks on the weekend. Tyrion and Brienne’s friend Sansa work together, so that’s why they all hang out. They’ve gone to some shows together because they have similar taste in music. And they send stupid memes back and forth—but it’s nothing, really. Jaime has a dumb sense of humor and Tyrion probably blocked him or something, so Brienne plays along. And, okay. They’ve revealed some pretty intense shit to each other—gotten close enough to bare the secret things they keep hidden inside. 

But that’s because they are friends. 

Brienne and Jaime are friends. Jaime never misses an opportunity to drive Brienne nuts. And, yeah, okay, Brienne’s basically been completely and hopelessly in love with Jaime going on two years now, but it’s not a big deal. Really. No one knows, and so she just pretends like it’s not a thing. Jaime’s her bud. Kind of. Not even really. He barely tolerates her, in truth.

And, so, naturally, Brienne was completely shocked when two nights ago Jaime Lannister kissed her. On the mouth. Like he meant it. Like it wasn’t a joke or a bet or a mistake or anything.


	2. Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime kisses Brienne

“What are you doing tonight?” Jaime had asked, casually, throwing a left hook at Brienne. The question caught her off-guard and so his fist did as well. She stumbled a bit before regaining her footing.

“It’s a Wednesday and it will be after 7 by the time we leave here. I’m going home. To eat dinner and sleep.”

“Yes, very sensible. Very responsible. I was wondering if you wanted to come over,” he says, dancing out of the way of a right jab. “Creed II just became available to rent, so I was going to get some take-out and watch it. I thought maybe you hadn’t seen it.”

She hadn’t.

“I haven’t.”

“So? Do you want to?” All Casual, NBD Jaime.

Brienne tries to think if she’s _ever_ said no to an invitation from him, but she doesn’t think so. Maybe this should be the time. It’s only midweek but it’s felt very long already—work’s been tough and Brienne could use some sleep.

“Okay, but I get to choose the takeout.”

And so she found herself, an hour later, eating Pentoshi takeout in Jaime’s posh apartment, watching Michael B. Jordan throw punches. Brienne had been in Jaime’s home before, but not for any extended period of time. She was usually just there, milling around waiting on him before they went for a run or something. But now, she is sunk low in his gigantic sectional, nervously nursing a beer and eating noodles—occasionally shooting glances at Jaime across the couch.

Partway through the movie, Jaime hits pause and gets up to clear the takeout containers and grab another round of beers. When he comes back, he sits directly next to her, despite the couch being enormous. He smells like pine and his shoulder presses against Brienne’s. She can feel the heat of his body next to her. Instinctually, she leans into him slightly. Just a little. Probably not even enough for him to notice. She really can’t help it.

He repositions himself and moves his left arm to drape behind her on the couch. It might be resting on Brienne’s shoulders more than the couch and Jaime’s fingers trace circular patterns on her left shoulder. It’s probably just an absentminded thing. He likely doesn’t even realize he is doing it, so she tries to ignore the way her stomach swoops. He turns to say something to her about an actor in one scene—whispering despite them being alone. His nose brushes against her hair and his breath ghosts her ear and she shudders. And she _knows_ he feels her shudder. _Fuck._

Please, Maiden, don’t let Jaime mention the shudder. He can’t ask her about it—she’s a horrible liar. He can’t know how she feels about him. Brienne has worked so hard to push those feelings down and bury them. Her relationship with Jaime is just too, too important. All of her life she’s been the butt of the joke and now she has friends—and, okay, who is she kidding, a _best_ friend—so she can’t fuck it up. If her gorgeous best friend finds out she’s in love with him and he has to… what? Let her down gently? She’ll die. He’ll be so nice and the pity writ across his face will be unbearable. It’ll be a thousand times worse than all of the ridicule and rejection she’s endured from people she didn’t give two shits about.

She’s brought back to herself by the feeling of Jaime breathing—his body next to hers, chest moving in a rapid in-and-out. And then she realizes the movie has ended. She has no idea how it ended or when but that’s probably the cause of Jaime’s quick breaths—some climactic finale. She waits a beat for him to say something about the film or make a move to get up or… _anything_ …but he doesn’t at first. Then she feels him turn toward her, shifting his body so that his left knee is up on the couch, pressed into her right hip. She can tell that he’s looking at her but she doesn’t dare to look back. She knows he’ll be able to see the nervousness in the set of her jaw; the uncertainty in the furrow of her brow; the want in her eyes, pupils huge and dark. Instead, she does what anyone might, in her situation. She decides to get the fuck out of there.

She stands abruptly, with a hurried “I should get home,” and starts flying around the apartment, gathering her things.

“Oh. Okay…” Jaime says, looking stunned and disappointed. Disappointed? That can’t be right. “Let me…let me walk you to your car.”

Jaime drags himself to the door and shoves his feet into a pair of Adidas slides. They walk down three flights of stairs and out onto the city sidewalk. He stays with her until they get to her car, parked across the street and down a few spots. 

“I’ll see you at the gym tomorrow?” he asks, conversationally.

“Sure, yes. I’ll see you…” Brienne is scrambling to get her keys out and unlock the car. As she flings open the driver’s side door, she hears Jaime say “Brie…” so softly that she almost thinks she imagines it. She turns around and he’s right there. There can’t be more than six inches between their noses. Jaime tucks a wild piece of her hair behind her ear, leaving his fingers to rest on the side of her neck. 

And then he’s moving toward her and pulling her toward him and his lips move toward hers and holy shit how is this happening? The kiss is soft and warm and Brienne can’t breath. Out of nowhere, she makes some kind of insane sound. Sort of like a moan mixed with…what? A purr? Oh, gods. Despite it being mortifying, it seems to further incense Jaime and he tentatively licks along her lower lip. Her sharp intake of breath causes her lips to part and Jaime moves his tongue to touch hers. 

She’s never felt anything like this before. His warm mouth on hers, their tongues sliding against each other. It’s both odd and exhilarating at the same time. Her heart is beating quickly, her breath is caught in her chest, and she feels hot and dizzy. Her hands are pressed against his shoulders because she doesn’t really know what to do except to lean into him. 

And all too soon he’s pulling back. When he breaks contact with her mouth, she instantly feels her body switch into fight-or-flight mode. She chooses flight. The panic racing through her veins is overwhelming.

“I really need to go,” she says, pulling back, not making eye contact with him. She hops into her already open car door and shuts it quickly. Fumbling with her keys, she can feel Jaime watching her on the other side of the window, but she focuses on getting her keys into the ignition. The car turns over and after an apologetic glance at Jaime, she pulls away. At the end of the block, she checks her rearview mirror and sees Jaime standing under a streetlight, shoulders slumped, rubbing his hand over his face.


	3. Act III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic ensues

The whole gang is meeting up for drinks at The Weirwood after work. It’ll be the first time Brienne and Jaime will have seen each other since the kiss (in what she knows was a hugely cowardly move, Brienne didn’t show up to the gym on Thursday). And now, as if she wasn’t nervous enough, fucking Margaery Tyrell has to go and dial that shit up to 11.

“Why are you acting so weird?” Margaery asks Brienne when they meet up for lunch earlier in the day. 

“I’m not acting weird,” she attempts to demur, but she eventually gives in to Margaery’s persistence. “I, um…well, it’s just…Jaime kissed me two nights ago and we haven’t seen each other or talked since and he’ll be there tonight,” she says, so rapidly that it comes out like one long word.

“No! Seriously? He finally got up the nerve?”

“‘Got up the nerve?’ What are you talking about?” Brienne sputters.

“Brienne, please. You’ve both been mooning over each other for years. It’s the most boring will-they-won’t-they in history. You fight constantly but would beat down anyone who so much as _accidentally_ looks at the other crooked. You spend all of your free time together but you’re both too insecure to notice that you’re so obviously more than ‘Just Friends.’”

“No…that’s not…that can’t be true.” Brienne is running any and every interaction with Jaime through her mind searching for romantic intentions and finding none—with the obvious exception, of course, of that time two nights ago when he unexpectedly kissed her in the moonlight. “If it was, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“We all vowed not to get involved.”

“We all? Good gods.” Brienne sighs, dropping her head into her hands.

“Well, anyway! It’s happening now! Yay!” Margaery does a fake little cheer, hands raised in front of her. “You love him, he loves you, and now you can both get on with it,” she concludes with a cheeky smirk.

“Get on with what? I have no idea what happens next—how are we supposed to act around each other? What do we do now?”

“Duh. You fuck each other’s brains out, Brie. Tonight, after an appropriate amount of time socializing so as not to seem too obvious, he’ll take your drink out of your hand and look you dead in the eyes and say ‘let’s get out of here.’ You’ll nod and then you’ll leave together. You make out in the back of the cab and go back to his place and you have sex. A lot of sex.”

“Oh.”

And then it’s after work and Brienne is home and she might be having a legit panic attack. She’s supposed to be at the bar in thirty minutes but SHE. IS. FREAKING. THE. FUCK. OUT.

Jaime’s in love with her. That’s not possible. Brienne’s entire experience in this world tells her that it’s not. Except…he kissed her. _And_ Margaery says it’s true. Which probably means she’s talked to Tyrion about it. He would probably know, she thinks. There’s absolutely no way this is another joke or prank, Brienne knows that. She trusts Jaime. But maybe he’s bored? Or confused? Or lonely? Otherwise, why would he be into _her?_

But okay…assuming he really is—assuming her breathtakingly beautiful best friend is in love with her. Then what? She’s imagined kissing Jaime so, so many times. And she _has_ fantasized about…being with him. Okay, about having sex with him. Fine, she’s a big girl—she can say ‘sex.’ She’s imagined the feel of his hands on her skin and the weight of his body on hers. The problem is, she never imagined the after. What she would say to him after a kiss or how she might treat him in the boxing ring after he’s made her come. How does that even work?

In any case, she has to be getting ahead of herself. Margaery can’t be right. Sex wouldn’t be an immediate next step. Brienne’s never done anything more than kiss someone. She understands the mechanics of sex, of course, but she can barely imagine what it would feel like. It’s terrifying, yet…she wants to know. She wants to know with him. She’s never felt like this before. It’s terrifying. She’s spent her whole life being insecure about her body and now she might bare herself to someone. Expose herself. Margaery is probably wrong...but what if she’s not?

Brienne is practically late already and she hasn’t even started getting ready. She hops in the shower. As the water beats down on her face, she tries to calm herself. She supposes she should save her legs, in case Jaime touches them at some point? Wait, should she shave…other places? Or do some other kind of grooming? She knows most women do stuff like that—shave or get waxed or whatever—but she’s never bothered to learn what the norm is. She’s never had any reason to. She could call Margaery or Sansa, but then say what? “Hey, what do I do to my pubic hair to make me sex-ready?” Gods. Who was supposed to have taught her this kind of stuff? 

She quickly shaves her legs and armpits—skipping any attempt to groom elsewhere. She wouldn’t know what to do and there is zero chance of Jaime seeing her naked tonight, anyway. She’s sure of that. She’s nearly sure of that. She finishes up in the shower, towel-dries her hair, and throws on some moisturizer. She sticks to her normal beauty routine of deodorant and brushing her teeth. 

She slips on some cute underwear—a blue lacy pair Marg had gotten her during her big push for Brienne to online date. She grabs some skinny jeans and a top Jaime once complimented. It’s a silky blue tank with a halter neck and low back. She has no idea what kind of bra you’d ever be able to wear with a top like that, but luckily she doesn’t really need one. She slips on a pair of heels. They make her insanely tall but Jaime seems to like when she wears them, for whatever reason. The last time she wore them, he looked up at her with a stunned expression and said she looked like “a godsdamned warrior.” She is pretty sure that’s a good thing.

She grabs her purse and coat and gives herself one last look in the mirror. She swipes on some chapstick, smooths her hair and sighs. Why is she trying to look nice for Jaime? He’s not going to care. She is freaking out over nothing. Nothing is going to happen. At the bar tonight, Jaime will just act like everything is totally normal.


	4. Act IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing-induced panic attack is resolved

Except Jaime is decidedly _not_ acting like everything is totally normal. He is flat-out ignoring her. What in the hells?

When Brienne walks in the door of The Weirwood, she spots her friends almost immediately, crowding around some high-tops by the pool tables. She spies Jaime in an intense-seeming conversation with Tyrion. As she approaches them, Tyrion waves her over, but when she is within a few feet, Jaime turns on his heels and walks away. She watches him head to the bar and order a new drink. She waits for him to return, but he doesn’t. He sits down at the bar, pulls out his phone, and settles in. Right. Huh.

A while later, Tyrion ropes Jaime into a game of pool. Brienne kind of hangs around the edges of their game, but, again, Jaime resolutely ignores her—aside from one moment where he says “excuse me” to get her to move so he can sink a corner shot. Brienne doesn’t really know what to do with herself. Not only does she not know how to navigate this weirdness, but also Jaime’s her main anchor at a gathering like this. She doesn’t even know what to do with herself without him—she feels a little lost and desperate. Margaery seems to sense the tension in the air and swoops in to save Brienne from herself.

The next hour and a half slips by with Brienne talking to the girls, trying to keep her mind off of Jaime. She drinks a little more than she might normally because she feels so nervous and confused. It doesn’t seem to have a huge affect aside from making her have to pee a lot. After what seems like her hundredth trip to the restroom, Brienne runs into Jaime. She barrels directly into him in the long hall at the back of the bar. 

“Sorry! Oh…hi,” she says simply, after realizing who it is she’s collided with.

“Hey,” Jaime spits out with a sort of sarcastic casualness.

“Are you...are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” he states, as though you’d have to be dim to think otherwise.

“Oh. Is _that_ why you’ve been ignoring me? You’re mad?”

“Obviously. Why did you think I was ignoring you?”

“I thought…well…I thought you were maybe having second thoughts? About the kiss? About…me?”

“Godsdamn it, Brienne. It’s hard to stay mad at you when you say stuff like that.” He looks exhausted. Exasperated. 

In almost a whisper she asks, “Okay…so why are you mad?”

“You want to know why I’m mad? How about in chronological order?” he snarks. “Okay—to start, we were sitting on the couch at my place, having a moment, and then you bolted. So I walked you to your car and _kissed you_ —and you kissed me back!—and then you bolted. Then you stood me up at the gym. No text message, nothing. Just like the kiss never happened—like I don’t matter. I thought _you_ were upset about it. But then you show up tonight wearing that shirt you know I like and heels which you know make me crazy…and so I don’t know what to think. It’s frustrating as hell. So yes. I’m mad!”

“Look, I’m sorry, Jaime! I freaked out!” Brienne kind of yells it at him. She had meant for it to be an earnest apology but some sort of fire is lit in her and she gets amped up. She’s feeling really panicky. Maybe those beers had a little more effect than she realized. “You know me. You know my history with men. You know what I look like! You know what _you_ look like! I was so confused by what was happening, worried that you didn’t mean it or were…I don’t know…feeling sorry for me or yourself or just lonely. Margaery told me that it wasn’t a mistake, that she had been expecting it to happen and so then, I guess, I _wanted_ to trust it, I truly did…”

“You still don’t _trust_ me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Jaime!”

“Look, I might come off confident and secure, but I’m not really that brave. It took a lot for me to make a move. It was a risk. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, the best person that I’ve ever known, and I didn’t want it all to blow up in my face. So I took it slow. Very slow. _Two-years_ slow. I waited and watched and I thought it was time. I thought it’s what you wanted, too. But clearly I was wrong. If you can’t even talk to me about this stuff, what kind of relationship would this be? I can’t do that. I can’t be left confused and guessing—I’ve been there before. I thought we were going to be building on top of being best friends but that’s not what this feels like. I think I should head home, give you some space. Let you figure out what you want.” 

His eyes are so sad. He hangs his head for a second and turns to leave. He gets about six feet down the long hall, before she manages to respond: “I’m sorry— _I love you, don’t go!_ ”

Jaime wheels around. Brienne is frozen in place, eyes wide, one hand over her mouth, the other clutching her beer tightly at her hip. She feels tears spring to her eyes but none spill over. Jaime’s demeanor instantly changes and he looks more determined than she’s ever seen him. He stalks back toward her. As he gets close, he doesn’t stop. He moves until she backs into the wall. He grabs the wrist of her hand, still hovering over her mouth, and pulls it from her face. 

“Say it again.”

“Jaime…”

“Say it again. Look at me, and say it again.”

After a beat. “I love you.”

He releases her wrist, grabs her face with both hands, and kisses her. This time it doesn’t start slow but is immediately insistent—forcing her to back up her words with her lips. She kisses him with as much abandon as possible. She knows it’s clumsy—she has so little experience—but she puts everything she can into it. Trying to reassure him that she’s all in. The kiss gets even more heated, then—hands moving, bodies pressed together, his lips moving to her neck. Just as Brienne feels like her knees are about to give out, Jaime pulls back. 

He looks at her, gaze searching and steady. She must look wrecked. She hopes he sees what he’s looking for. She hopes he’s sure of her. She’s sure of him. 

He reaches down and takes the beer bottle from her hands and sets it down on the ledge running the length of the hall. He looks her straight in the eyes and says “Let’s go.” 

She nods.

They leave together.

They make out in the back of the cab on the way to his place.

They…well…Margaery had it right. 

This is all her fault.


End file.
